


Hot Pursuit

by venvephe



Series: The Snowglobe Series [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Car Chases, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a decision he makes in a heartbeat: he unlocks the Jaguar with a click, and with one firm tug the door flies open. The young man swears and flops down into the seat, breathing hard and eyes a little wild. He scrabbles to sit upright, and then makes a frantic circling motion with his pointed finger.</p><p>“Fuckin’ <i>drive</i>, mate!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Pursuit

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt from tumblr - "You were chased, got into my car and just yelled ‘Drive!’" AU. Partially inspired by Mark Strong and Jaguar, and my admittedly large soft spot for well-made automobiles. 
> 
> Just a bit of pre-slash fun; if you end up cursing at me for the lack of a higher rating, then. _Well._ In a week or so you're in for a treat.

It isn’t often that Harry Hart drives himself around London; usually it’s more convenient to be driven in the Kingsman car, or hail a cab rather than deal with the city’s narrow streets and unpredictable traffic. But sometimes it’s unavoidable, and tonight is one of those nights; thankfully, it’s late enough that there are few people on the streets, pedestrians and other cars alike. The necessity is also tempered by the luxury of the car itself - a sleek black Jaguar, Merlin’s choice - and a good one at that. Still, it’s Harry’s opinion that such a car is wasted on London - there’s no room to really _push_ the car to its full potential, though there’s still something very satisfying about the purr of the engine and the cushion of high-quality leather. It’s more of a prop than anything, tonight - showing up to black tie events in a sports car is as much about fleshing out his cover as the tuxedo, though the car is arguably more bulletproof. Merlin’s decked the Jaguar out nicely, too, with spy-related gadgetry that is definitely _not_ street-legal, but the heads-up display is rather a nice touch.

It’s the only reason he’s able to slam on the brakes as someone trips into the street in front of him.

There’s no squealing brakes or burned rubber - the Jaguar’s too quick on the draw and responsive for that - but there is a muffled thump as the man collides with the passenger side of the car. Harry blinks, a little startled; he’d stopped well in time not to hit the young man, but he’d run into the side of the Jaguar anyways - and, to Harry’s further surprise, doesn't even look into the car. The young man glances over his shoulder with wide eyes, fumbling to find the door’s handle and tug on it. It’s locked, of course, but as he tries again - harder this time, with an edge of desperation - Harry finds himself reaching for the unlock button.

Harry can see the man's chest heaving with heavy breaths, the bright blue of his eyes catching in the light of the street lamps as he glances up and down the street, mind visibly churning through the getaway possibilities. The HUD hasn't picked up anything unusual, and Harry finds himself frowning; there's no apparent reason for the young man's panic.

Ah, but that’s why: there are men pouring out of the pub, now, eyes locked on the young man outside his car and coming closer with the brutal confidence that only belongs to bullies. It's a ragtag group, but Harry knows the look of lackeys when he sees them, and the man shouting obscenities from the back of the group has the sloppy brashness of a ringleader. It's almost revolting; a  _lack of manners_ isn't the least of the things that crosses Harry's mind as he watches the scene unfold. The young man outside the car gives another tug on the handle as the men lumber forward, and something surges in Harry's gut at the sight.

Harry’s decision is made in a heartbeat - he unlocks the Jaguar with a click, and with one firm tug the door flies open.

The young man swears and flops down into the seat, breathing hard and eyes a little wild. He scrabbles to sit upright, and then makes a frantic circling motion with his pointed finger.

“Fuckin’  _drive_ , mate!”

Harry smirks - he’s already got a foot on the clutch and a hand on the gear shift - and he  _does_.

The young man gasps as the Jaguar roars to life, shooting forward so quickly that he’s pressed back into the seat. Harry keeps his eyes on the road - and on his mirror, he can see the goons piling into a horrid yellow Impreza to give chase -  but out of the corner of his eye he watches the young man taking in the luxurious interior of the car. And, then, he turns to Harry himself - still clad in tuxedo and cummerbund, nearly the opposite of his Adidas and snap-back cap - and  _stares_ , because Harry is definitely not a cabby.

“You should buckle your seat belt,” Harry says, shifting gears as they swing around a tight corner and up another narrow street. “I think they’re going to try and come after us.”

The young man’s eyebrows rise - probably at the use of the word  _us_.

“Shit, mate,” he swears, running his hands along the supple, dark leather and studying the heads-up display with wide eyes. The car's suggesting which turns Harry should take to lose their pursuers, and he takes the next left as the light switches from yellow to red. “I only saw that your car was black - thought it was a cab.”

Harry nearly snorts, but keeps smiling. “I’d say you’re in for a rather more exciting ride than that, tonight.”

“What is this?” he murmurs, squinting at the buttons in the dash and the little screen embedded there. He doesn't push any, thank goodness; Harry hadn't fully paid attention during Merlin's lecture, not expecting to have to use the car in its full capacity at all at the _gala._  Thankfully or not, his night has taken quite the interesting turn. “This ain’t no standard model-”

“The 2014 Jaguar F-type - with some customizations,” Harry tilts his head, glancing over to his passenger. “Sexy little thing, isn’t she?”

The young man’s face splits into a grin, and he leans over towards the center console to look in the rear-view mirror. The yellow Impreza is far behind them now, and with another quick series of turns is lost in the maze of London’s streets. Harry hums to himself, pleased; there’s rarely an excuse to do any proper stunt-driving in London, and as unusual as the night has been, his unexpected companion is rather - endearing. His eyes are even bluer now than they had been in the yellowed light from the lamps outside the pub, his face flushed with happy surprise.

Harry brings the Jag to an idle at a quiet intersection, looking over to meet his his passenger’s eyes for the first time. He’s young indeed - but handsome, with eyes bright from excitement and amusement, strong jaw set confidently as he smiles back at Harry.

“Now, Mr -”

“Eggsy,” the young man supplies, reaching over to offer his hand to Harry, which he shakes with a firm, warm grip.

“Harry Hart,” Harry says, and before he can open his mouth again Eggsy interrupts him.

“I can’t - I mean, you didn't have to do that. We’re probably fuck-all near where you were going, aye? Let me make it up to you.”

There’s an earnest eagerness in his gaze that makes Harry pause, makes him stop from just brushing off the deed as a kindness that is in no need of repaying. Harry has little time for ideas like love at first sight - or, indeed, l _ove when you bodily ran into my car and we made a spontaneous getaway_ \- but there’s something about this young man he’s strangely drawn to. Even in the spy profession, he doesn't know anyone who can say they made a friend when someone hopped into their Jaguar and asked for a getaway; besides, he can't bring himself to use his amnesia dart on Eggsy's bright, puppy-eyed expression.

“Eggsy,” Harry repeats, and returns his hand to the gear-shift, the heat lingering in his hand from their handshake. “I realize it’s rather late, but I’m going to wager it would be wise for you to stay away from that pub for a while.”

Eggsy’s eyes narrow as he waits for Harry to continue, lips thin with a half-smile.

Harry shrugs, plowing on. “How do you feel about chips? I know of a place that’s still open.”

Eggsy grins, and gestures to the open road in front of them. “Drive on.”

**Author's Note:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)!


End file.
